Young Samurai: The Ring of Sky

by Chris Bradford

  ‘That was clever of you, Akiko,’ remarked Saburo. ‘If we’re lucky, that ploy should delay the Shogun’s samurai.’

  ‘It might even give us a chance to escape once Jack’s on-board his ship,’ said Benkei with a grin.

  ‘Don’t speak too soon,’ replied Akiko, hearing a shout from behind.

  ‘STOP! THIEVES!’

  A portly aristocrat with four panicked bearers came lumbering down the hill towards the gate.

  ‘THAT’S MY PALANQUIN!’

  The gate guards spun round and glared at the disappearing entourage. Several immediately gave chase.

  ‘GO!’ cried Saburo.

  The farmers pumped their legs, clattering across the wooden bridge. Jack was thrown around inside the palanquin as they barged through the crowd. But the streets were thronging with people, and, even with Akiko on her horse, their progress was hampered. The guards, on the other hand, wielded their swords with abandon, scattering the crowd and clearing a path through.

  ‘Get out, Jack!’ Akiko ordered, quickly dismounting Snowball, realizing she was too visible.

  The farmers dumped the palanquin on the ground and Jack leapt out. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll draw the guards away,’ said Takumi.

  ‘Then take Snowball to attract their attention,’ Akiko suggested, handing Takumi the reins as Jack and the others snatched their packs from the saddle. ‘But I’ll be back for him.’

  Bowing a hurried farewell, Takumi and the four farmers disappeared down a side street with the stallion in tow. In an attempt to throw off the guards, Jack and his friends went the opposite way, taking to the warren of alleys that circled the harbour. They switched right, then left, before cutting across another bridge. Behind, their pursuers were shouting for them to stop. They passed beneath a fire-red gateway, golden dragons adorning its green-tiled eaves. Hundreds of yellow lanterns festooned with red streamers floated above their heads. As they ran, Jack noticed all the inhabitants in this district were Chinese. Their eyes widened in shock as the five fugitives careered past.

  Akiko broke left and darted inside a temple. The chaos of the port was suddenly replaced by the tranquil chime of bells, heady wafts of incense and the incantation of praying monks. Respectfully avoiding the central shrine, the five of them dashed through to a backstreet. They crossed a small stone bridge out of Chinatown and headed for the harbour. But the alley they chose came to an abrupt end. Backtracking, they heard the shouts of their pursuers drawing closer. They ducked inside a darkened warehouse and waited for them to pass.

  No one spoke, their hearts racing and lungs burning.

  The guards shot by.

  Bolting from their hiding place, Jack and his friends took the opposite alley, then bore right. A few turns later, they emerged by the harbour side. The quay was crammed with fishing boats, Chinese junks and cargo ships. Warehouses swarmed with deckhands and port workers loading and unloading barrels. The hubbub of activity meant that their sudden appearance went unnoticed. Jack’s eyes scanned the port for the galleons. The enormous multi-decked ships were easy to spot. Their distinctive castle-like design, heavy cannon and square-rigs set them apart from the Eastern-style flat-keeled boats with their batten sails. Jack spied three galleons in the bay almost immediately.

  But his heart sank like a stone. None flew the British flag. They all boasted the stark white rectangle and golden coat of arms of his country’s sworn enemy, Portugal.

  Jack collapsed to his knees in despair. Benkei had been right. Only the Portuguese traded out of Nagasaki. He was doomed. All his friends’ efforts and sacrifices were for nothing, his dream of returning home to Jess no more than that – just a futile dream.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Akiko, kneeling beside him. ‘They’re galleons, aren’t they?’

  Jack nodded. ‘But they fly the Portuguese flag,’ he explained. ‘They’d sooner take me prisoner than take me home.’

  Yori looked out beyond the mouth of the bay towards the distant sea. ‘An English ship will turn up soon, Jack … I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Saburo agreed readily. ‘And we can protect you until one arrives.’

  Jack turned to his friends, their unwavering belief in him only highlighting the cruel truth.

  ‘That could be years,’ he said, resigning himself to his fate. ‘This is the end of the road. You got me here, alive, and I’m grateful for that. But you can’t hide me from the Shogun’s samurai forever. And I can’t allow you to keep risking your lives for me.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Yori, defiant tears brimming in his eyes. ‘We’ll find another way. Another ship –’

  ‘What flag’s that?’ interrupted Benkei, pointing towards a mast at the far end of the quay.

  Protruding above the roofline of a large warehouse were four tall masts – another galleon. Atop the main fluttered a banner with red, white and blue horizontal stripes.

  Jack stared in astonishment. How could he have missed it?

  ‘That’s a Dutch flag!’ he cried, jumping up and hugging Benkei with joy. ‘That’s a Dutch flag!’

  He raced along the harbour, his friends following in his wake. As they rounded the warehouse and came alongside, they slowed to a halt, awed by the sheer size of the colossal ocean-going vessel.

  ‘This floats?’ said Saburo, utterly astonished.

  ‘A ship like this can sail around the world. All the way to England!’ Jack declared, heading towards the gangway.

  ‘Ahoi, aan boord!’ he cried, recalling the Dutch he’d learnt from his fellow seaman Ginsel.

  A crewman with a sunburnt face, thick beard and sharp blue eyes leant over the side. ‘Wie ben jij?’

  Jack threw off his hat to reveal his blond hair. ‘Mijn naam is Jack Fletcher. Ik ben Engels!’

  The crewman looked astonished. ‘Kom aan boord! Kom aan boord!’

  Jack and his friends hurried up the gangway and on to the deck before any of the gate guards appeared. The bearded crewman and several other sailors greeted them with bemused expressions. They were unsure what to make of the kimono-clad, sword-bearing English boy and his bizarre retinue of a Japanese warrior girl, a young samurai, a tiny monk and a patchwork clown.

  ‘Kapitein!’ called the bearded crewman.

  A tall Dutch man emerged from the main cabin and approached. Despite the heat, he was dressed smartly in a brown leather jacket, waistcoat and linen shirt with a lace collar. He wore wide black breeches with knee-length white socks and polished buckle shoes. His light auburn hair was a thick carpet of tight curls and he sported a trimmed beard and moustache.

  ‘I’m Captain Hendrik Spilbergen of the Hosiander,’ he announced in slightly accented English. He looked Jack up and down. ‘And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?’

  ‘Jack Fletcher of the Alexandria,’ he said, bowing.

  The captain’s face blanched slightly, as if he’d seen a ghost. ‘The Alexandria?’

  ‘Hai … I mean yes,’ replied Jack, nodding. He was so used to speaking Japanese that it was a shock to converse in English after so many years.

  The captain shook his head in disbelief. ‘We believed you all to be dead.’

  61

  Passage Home

  ‘You needn’t worry, Jack,’ assured Captain Spilbergen, raising a crystal glass of red wine to his lips, ‘you’re safe on-board the Hosiander. This is Dutch territory.’

  Jack was greatly relieved to hear this and told his friends the good news. They sat round a large oak table in the captain’s quarters. Upon his insistence, they’d all been tended to by the ship’s doctor before joining him and his officers for dinner. Akiko now looked more her normal self, having regained some of her colour and had her arrow wound dressed properly and her bloodstained kimono changed for a fresh one. Jack felt better too, the worst of his cuts stitched and bandaged. Yori had soaked his blistered feet in brine, while the only medicine Saburo required was food. Benkei had passed the time making friends
with the ship’s cat and she now sat on his lap, purring loudly.

  The setting sun spilled in through the gallery windows and bathed the table in golden light. There was a feast of coarse bread, dumplings and pottage. His mouth watering, Jack wondered what his Japanese friends would make of the thick steaming stew; they were already bemused enough by the conversations in English.

  He shifted in his seat. It felt strange to be on hard wooden chairs after being used to sitting cross-legged on floor cushions for so long.

  ‘I met your father once,’ revealed Captain Spilbergen. ‘John Fletcher’s regarded as one of the greatest pilots to sail the Seven Seas.’

  Jack felt a flush of pride at his father’s memory.

  ‘Which is why the Dutch East India Company – who funded both your father’s and my trade expeditions to the Far East – was so surprised that his ship didn’t return. After a few years, we could only assume you’d all perished.’

  ‘The Alexandria was shipwrecked in a typhoon,’ Jack explained. ‘But my father navigated us safely to shore.’

  ‘So where’s your father and the rest of the crew now?’

  Jack shivered at the dark memory. ‘All dead. Killed by wako. My father too.’

  Captain Spilbergen nodded solemnly. ‘I’m grieved to hear that. You certainly look like you’ve been through the wars. How have you survived all this time?’

  Jack looked to Akiko, then at Yori, Saburo and Benkei. He thought of Yamato and of Miyuki.

  ‘I have my friends to thank for that.’

  Over dinner, he gave a brief recount of his adventures since landing in Japan: his rescue and adoption by the swordmaster Masamoto; his training as a samurai warrior in Kyoto; his deadly clashes with the ninja Dragon Eye; and his escape from the Battle of Osaka Castle. The captain and his officers listened rapt, alternating between disbelief, shock and admiration. While Jack spoke, Saburo devoured his stew and polished off the dumplings. Akiko and Yori were slightly less enthusiastic about the European-style meal, not being familiar with such rich and fatty foods. But, like Benkei, they ate as much as they could, encouraged by hunger and good manners, before discreetly passing the remainder to Saburo. Every so often Captain Spilbergen would ask a question and Jack would reply, taking the time to translate for his friends’ benefit. The captain and his officers were astounded by his fluidity in the impenetrable language.

  ‘You possess valuable skills, young Jack,’ remarked the First Officer, raising his eyebrows in high regard. ‘We could have done with your help when trading. They’re a shrewd lot, these Japanese.’

  Jack was encouraged to continue his story. He went on to explain the Shogun’s edict banishing all foreigners and Christians from Japan. Then, as Jack recounted the troubles he’d faced on his perilous journey from Toba to Nagasaki, Captain Spilbergen and his officers exchanged concerned glances.

  ‘We’ve heard tales of persecution, but didn’t know what to believe,’ said the captain. ‘Here in Nagasaki, the Japanese are civil to us. But perhaps that’s only because of the trade we bring them.’

  ‘And the fact that we don’t force our religion on them, like the Jesuits,’ remarked the First Officer in distaste. ‘It’s their own fault they’ve been banished. Just this week the Portuguese had their trade privileges revoked by the local bugyō. That’s why they can no longer dock at the quay.’

  ‘You’re extremely lucky, Jack, to have arrived in Nagasaki when you did,’ continued the captain. ‘We’re due to set sail in a few days, as soon as the trade winds pick up. It’ll be a year before the next Dutch ship arrives.’

  Jack decided this was the moment to ask. ‘I have a request. I need passage home to England.’

  Captain Spilbergen considered this. ‘Then I have a question for you. Are you as competent a sailor as you’re a samurai?’

  Jack gave a confident nod. ‘My father taught me the skills to be a pilot. It’s in my blood.’

  ‘Dare I ask if you have all his knowledge?’ enquired the captain, leaning forward and steepling his fingers in anticipation. ‘It was rumoured he possessed an accurate rutter.’

  Jack hesitated. His pack containing the precious logbook was just outside the captain’s door. But could he trust this man?

  ‘No matter,’ said the captain, leaning back in his chair. ‘I’d acquire your services with or without it. But you’ll be a very sought-after young man if you do have it still. The Dutch East India Company is desperate for reliable pilots.’

  ‘So you’ll take me home?’ asked Jack tentatively.

  ‘Why, of course!’ said Captain Spilbergen, breaking into a smile and opening his arms in welcome. ‘If you’re half the pilot your father was, then we’re in safe hands.’

  Jack was speechless. All that he’d strived for these past four years, every obstacle he’d overcome, every sacrifice he and his friends had made, had been for this very moment. He was so overwhelmed, he didn’t know whether to laugh with joy or cry with relief.

  ‘What did the captain just say?’ asked Akiko in Japanese, concerned by the look of shock on Jack’s face.

  ‘I’m … going home,’ he replied.

  For a second no one said anything, then Yori clapped in delight. ‘Praise the gods!’

  ‘Praise us more like,’ said Benkei, grinning wider than the cat in his lap, and they all began to celebrate the good news.

  After dinner, the midshipman showed Jack and his friends to their quarters for the night. Akiko was given her own cabin, courtesy of one of the officers, while the others were offered berths on the lower deck. The crew had slung several spare hammocks from the beams. Benkei clambered into one and promptly fell out the other side, much to everyone’s amusement.

  ‘I prefer the floor anyway!’ said Benkei, massaging his behind and pulling his pack over for a pillow. The ship’s cat curled up next to him and purred contentedly. ‘As you can see, it’s far more comfortable.’

  With practised ease, Jack rolled into his hammock. Saburo and Yori struggled with theirs, before giving up and joining Benkei on the floor. Exhausted from the battles of the day, they were soon fast asleep.

  Clasping his hands behind his head, Jack settled back, still unable to believe his good fortune. As the hammock gently swayed back and forth with the lapping of the waves, he too was lulled to sleep. His last thoughts were of his sister, Jess, and his return to England.

  62

  Gunpoint

  Jack stared into the muzzle of a gun.

  Woken by a prod to the ribs, he’d opened his eyes to find the First Officer holding a flintlock pistol to his face. Next to him stood Captain Spilbergen.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ said the captain. ‘I’ve been given no choice.’

  ‘But … you said we’re protected on-board the Hosiander.’

  ‘Even if you were Dutch, I couldn’t save your life,’ he sighed. ‘The bugyō of Nagasaki has threatened to revoke all our trade privileges. He’s also arrested several of my crew. They’re as good as dead … unless we turn you over to the Shogun’s samurai.’

  Jack glanced round to discover his friends also held at gunpoint.

  ‘Can’t you just hand me over?’ he begged.

  Captain Spilbergen shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m afraid it’s a life for a life. And my duty is to my crew first. Do understand this is not personal.’

  Jack dropped from his hammock. His pack and swords had already been seized. Still, there’d be little point in trying to fight their way free. The captain’s hand was being forced. It wasn’t his fault.

  Surrendering to their fate, Jack and his friends were taken up to the main deck. Blinking in the bright morning sunshine, Jack spotted Akiko beside the main mast, her head bowed, a resigned expression on her face.

  ‘So close to going home,’ she whispered as they were directed towards the gangway. ‘I’m sorry we let our guard down.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ he replied. ‘To come this far with you is closer than I could have ever dreamed.’

>   At the bottom of the gangway, dressed in gleaming gold-and-black armour, a detachment of the Shogun’s samurai awaited them. The forty troops glared up at their elusive quarry, eager to have the traitors in their clutches at last. In front of them, five Dutch crewmen were on their knees, swords held to their throats.

  ‘What a cheery start to the morning!’ Benkei remarked, scratching his wayward hair and yawning.

  Captain Spilbergen led Jack and his friends down the gangway and on to the quayside.

  The bugyō, a short man with waxen skin, hollow cheeks and a thin preened moustache, greeted the captain.

  ‘I’m so glad you could see matters our way,’ he said with an ingratiating smile.

  Giving a wave of his hand, he allowed the five Dutchmen to be released.

  Captain Spilbergen grunted and handed over his captives. The Shogun’s samurai stepped forward and seized Jack and his friends, roughly escorting them away.

  63

  Stake

  The blistering sun beat down, the air hot and humid. Even the breeze coming off the bay gave no relief.

  A bead of sweat rolled down Jack’s brow. But he couldn’t wipe it away. His hands were bound, along with the rest of his body, to a wooden stake. A row of them had been erected along the harbour front earlier that morning. They’d heard the hammering from their prison cell as the stakes were driven into the hard ground. Akiko was lashed to the one on his left, Yori to his right. Benkei and Saburo were being tied to the final two stakes.

  Dressed in a purple kataginu jacket and gold ceremonial kimono, the waxen-faced bugyō oversaw the preparations with an enthusiasm that went beyond his duty as a magistrate. He personally checked each of their bonds, ensuring they were all painfully fastened. Once satisfied, he directed the Shogun’s samurai to form an arena round the execution site, quashing any hopes of escape … or of rescue.